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LITTLE BOY FRANCE 

By 


A FINE NEW ART EDITION OF A JUVENILE 
CULTURE CLASSIC 

East O’ the Sun 

and 

West O’ the Moon 

By Gudrun Thome-Thomsen 


Bound in Olive Green Cloth . . . . $1.00 Net 


A story of universal appeal. 

A book of the best twenty- two Norwegian folk-lore 
tales. 

Stories of compelling interest. 

Stories that foster literary interest. 

Master color- illustrations by one of America’s famous 
artists. 


RICHLY ILLUSTRATED WITH TEN 
COLOR PICTURES 

From the 

ORIGINAL PAINTINGS 

By Frederick Richardson 


Buy and read this book of wonderful culture- value 
AND WIN THE CHILD’S HEART 


ALBERT WHITMAN & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS CHICAGO 








Missy Did Not Come — But He Was Too Tired and Sleepy to Care; 








Zittle Boy France 

Roy J Snell 

AUTHOR OF 

Skimmer and His Thrilling Adventures 
Skimmer The Dauntless in the Far North 



Hazel. Frazee 



PUBLISHED BY 

Albert Whitman 

AND 

Company 

CHICAGO 




Copyright 1919 by 
Albert Whitman & Company 


©C1A 763410 

NOV -9 *23 


'wo 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


Page 

Little Boy France . . . . .... 13 

Little Boy and the Wonderful Soldier .... 26 

The Picture-Book House ....... 44 

LIST OF COLOR ILLUSTRATIONS 

Frontispiece .......... 8 

He Trudged beside his foster mother ..... 29 

This Was Truly a Wonderful Soldier . . . . . 35 

It Was a fountain with the water bubbling. 

AND BUBBLING ALL THE TIME ..... 47 

From Somewhere There Came a Strange Sound ... 55 































































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LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


“Little Boy France.” That’s what the 
French soldiers had called him because 
his uniform, like theirs, from cap to leg- 
gings was the color of the sky where it 
comes down to the meadows. But you 
would never know they had called him 
that, if you had seen him that summer 
evening. A blouse, miles too big for him, 
dull drab in color and all in tatters, a pair 
of baggy trousers, out at the knees, a cap 
of light green; these had replaced his spick 
and span suit of horizon-blue. And of it 
all Little Boy hated the cap most, for it 


14 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


was like the caps worn by the enemies of 
his country. 

Yes, Little Boy was in a village which 
swarmed with the enemy’s troops. They 
had come rolling down through the valley 
one morning; and so rapid was their march 
that all Little Boy and Madam Guyon, 
with whom he lived, could do was to creep 
down into the cellar away from the terrible 
shell-fire and let them pass. 

But Little Boy was not going to stay in 
the village where the enemy was. No, in- 
deed! Just as soon as it was dark he was 
going away; going where his horizon-blue 
friends were. No, it wasn’t because they 
had taken away his horizon -blue suit and 
made him wear a green cap. That was 
bad. So, too, was their robbing him of 
his butter, milk, and eggs, and giving him 
thin soup and hard bread. But these 
were not the worst of all. The worst was 
that to-morrow they were going to take 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


i5 


Missy away. And Missy was Little Boy’s 
very, very best friend. They had been 
pals together in Paris, and when the doc- 
tor said Little Boy must go to the hills for 
his health, he had insisted that Missy go 
along. What sport they had had, too, 
when his horizon-blue soldier friends were 
in town! What romps down the narrow 
streets! What long journeys over the 
country roads and through the woods! 
But now all this was to be changed. A 
savage-looking man had told Madam 
Guyon only yesterday that she must pay 
fifty francs if they were to keep Missy. 
And Madam Guyon had said, “Where in 
the world would they get fifty francs?” 

The man had shrugged his shoulders, 
and said, “Voila! Then we will take Missy 
off and boil her down for wagon grease.” 
Then he had gone away leaving Little Boy 
with chills running down his back, and 
with a tight feeling above his eyes and 


1 6 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


around his throat. But Little Boy didn’t 
cry; he just thought and thought, and at 
last was sure that the only thing to do was 
to run away with Missy. 

Little Boy France was only seven, so he 
could not be expected to know all the dif- 
ficulties to be met with in running away 
from one land to another in time of a great 
war. And, of course, Missy couldn’t be 
supposed to tell him, for though she was 
very wise, she was only a dog. Y es, Missy 
was a dog. But she was a wonderful dog 
at that. She was a wolf-hound. But her 
last wolf ancestor had lived so long ago 
that she was really just a fine dog who 
was very kind to her friends, and very 
brave when it came time to defend them. 

Little Boy wasn’t even quite sure which 
way to go, but at last he took a road which 
lead out through the woods. Often and 
often he and Missy had gone racing away 
over this road. But that was in other days. 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


1 7 


How changed it was now! All torn by 
shells and badly repaired afterward; with 
trees snapped off and only half-thrown out 
of it; with bits of tangled wire strewn every- 
where, it was a very difficult road to travel. 
But Little Boy made it very well till he 
came to a place where the road suddenly 
stopped with a high bank stretched right 
across it. He opened his eyes wide with 
surprise at this. Perhaps the evil gnomes 
had been doing some mischief here. He 
mounted the bank slowly, followed by 
Missy. Once he was on top he under- 
stood. He had heard people tell of the 
terrible trenches where men fought till 
there was none left to fight. But here 
was none fighting. A terrible thought 
came to him: Perhaps all the men in the 
world had fought and fought and fought, 
till there was not one left; and he and Missy 
were left all alone in a great big world! 


i8 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


This thought frightened him. But Little 
Boy was very brave and meant to leave 
this terrible land where Missy would be 
boiled up into axle-grease, if there were 
any men left to do it. So he slid down 
the bank into the trench. Here he found 
a very crooked and teetering board-walk 
that bumped and creaked as he stepped 
upon it. Very soon he came to a trench 
which ran the same way the road did. 
Down this a little way he found another 
trench, but he kept straight on. At last 
he came to the end, and there was another 
high bank. The bank was too steep to 
climb. Then another dreadful thought 
came to him: Perhaps he could never get 
out of these trenches, and then if there 
were no more men in the world, he and 
Missy would just wander on and on till 
they starved to death! 

Well, anyway, he must try to find a 
place to climb out. He had hardly gone 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


19 


any distance at all when he came to where 
a number of bags of sand were piled up 
like a stair-way. With a little cry of joy 
he sprang upon the first bag. That little 
cry of joy caused him a great deal of 
trouble. 

In the trenches you must not make the 
least noise, I can tell you; especially if you 
are trying to run away. No, he was not 
killed by a rifle-ball from No Man’s Land. 
But just as he was on the top sack, two 
strong arms pulled him back, and an ugly 
face leered at him. He didn’t say a word, 
but when the enemy-soldier set him down 
in the trench, he began climbing right up 
again. Once more he was lifted down, and 
once more he climbed up again. This time 
when he was taken down and the ugly 
face leered at him, he did a strange thing. 
He put out his hand, and seizing the long, 
red nose of his tormenter, he pulled it hard. 


20 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


With a gaunt of pain, the soldier drop- 
ped him. Then he struck Little Boy- 
struck him so hard that he tumbled half- 
way up the sand-bag steps. Just then 
there was a rush of something big, silent 
and fierce. It was Missy. 

Little Boy wasn’t badly hurt, and he 
hurried back up the steps. This time, feel- 
ing no hands pull him down, he stumbled 
out into the dark, empty place that every- 
one knows as No Man’s Land. 

Little Boy no longer believed that all 
the men in the world had “fought them- 
selves to death,” for had not one of them 
dragged him back into the trenches three 
times, and at last struck him because he 
had pulled his nose? But if he hadn’t 
seen the man, he would surely have believ- 
ed when he came to No Man’s Land there 
was not a living creature in all the world. 
Not a bird fluttered from its sleeping -place 
in the bushes; not a rabbit scurried from 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


21 


its den; not a wild hog went snorting from 
the tangled and torn woods that hindered 
his foot-steps. All these had been fright- 
ened away by the terrible boom-boom and 
the rat-tat of battle. 

No creatures live in No Man’s Land. 
Little Boy France wandered on alone till, 
chilled by the sharp wind, his eyes grew 
heavy with sleep. Missy did not come, 
but he was too tired and sleepy to care. 
Suddenly red flares came shooting up from 
the enemy’s trenches. These were signs 
of great danger, but Little Boy did not 
know, so he did not heed. He was in a 
tangled bit of brush now, and right before 
him lay a deep pit. Into this pit he crept 
to escape the wind. The flares continued. 
They lighted the pit and showed him the 
rusty barrel of a mammoth cannon which 
had been overturned and wrecked by shell- 
fire. In this cannon he would be quite out 
of the wind. In he crept and curled up 
to sleep. 


22 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


He was just drifting away to the land of 
“Winkum, Blinkum, and Nod” when he 
was startled by a sound. He tried to look 
behind him, but in the cannon it was too 
dark. In another instant his heart beat 
loud for joy; he heard a familiar pant-pant, 
and knew it was Missy. She had found 
her master. What else had happened, 
being only a dog she could not tell. 
Creeping in close, she curled up as best 
she could, and soon they were both fast 
asleep. 

Outside the flares had ceased to light 
the sky, but the clouds had fled and the 
moon was lighting No Man’s Land. For 
many hours that night dark, ugly faces 
were searching the torn ground and tum- 
bled woods of No Man’s Land. They 
were looking for a boy and a dog. 

And the moon blinking down at them 
seemed to frown as they came near the 
broken cannon, and to smile and wink as 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


23 


they moved far away. And when they 
came very close indeed, he seemed almost 
to whisper: 

“Missy, old dog, don’t bark! Don’t 
bark! For your life and the life of your 
young master, don’t bark!” And Missy- 
slept soundly through it all. 

After a long time the search was aban- 
doned, and in all the broad stretches of No 
Man’s Land not a living creature was to 
be found, save Little Boy France and Missy. 

Just as the dark clouds of morning were 
scudding away, an horizon-blue soldier, 
stamping his feet to keep them warm, and 
peeping through his look-out station, saw 
something move in No Man’s Land. His 
finger was on the trigger to fire. Once, 
twice, three times he took aim. Was it 
an angel who whispered, 

“Don’t fire!” 

Who can tell? He did not fire, and in 
another second his heart stopped beating 


24 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


with fear, then raced on with joy; Little 
Boy France and Missy were coming 
through the fog. 

“Hello there, little Alleman,” he whis- 
pered, as he lifted the boy down, “Where 
you think you’re going?” 

“My name isn’t Alleman,” said the boy, 
“My name’s Little Boy France. I had 
clothes just like yours, and they took 
them from me over there, and they want- 
ed to boil Missy down into axle-grease, so 
I ran away. We slept all night in a 
cannon, and now we’re hungry.” 

“And you shall eat,” said the soldier 
leading the way, “After that, you shall 
have a new suit of horizon-blue, and you 
shall keep Missy too, for I know a kind 
madam who needs a boy to tend her cattle 
in the pasture, and a dog to draw her 
milk-cart.” 

All that he said came true, and that 
very night Little Boy found himself sitting 


LITTLE BOY FRANCE 


25 


beside a brave soldier in the home of a 
new foster-mother. He wore a fresh suit 
of horizon-blue, and beside the hearth 
Missy slept peacefully. 

But in the war-zone homes are not for 
long, and we shall soon see what next hap- 
pened to Little Boy France and Missy. 


LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WON- 
DERFUL SOLDIER 
Little Boy France was in school. The 
woman who had taken him to keep would 
gladly enough had him watch the cows 
on the unfenced hillside all day long, but 4 
the town mayor had come to her home, 
and told her that Little Boy, with all the 
other children, must go to school; that, 
though war was a terrible thing, it must 
not rob the children of France of their 
schooldays. 

Yes, he was in school. And such a 
school as it was! Not a bit like any school 
you ever saw. Such a mysterious school. 
Just like a cave of robbers, or a deep, dark 
den where wild animals— lions and tigers— 
lived. Only it wasn’t dark. All along 
the sides lamps blinked and glimmered 
down on the rows and rows of desks. 
Bright pictures and flags hung on the dull 
walls, too. Sometimes the children for- 
26 


LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 27 


got they were deep down under the ground 
in their strange dug-out schoolhouse. 
But when they heard a Boom-Haroom! 
that sounded like distant thunder, but was 
the enemies’ shells bursting overhead, they 
did not forget to be glad. 

One day, when they were in the midst 
of their lessons, a soldier opened the door 
without knocking. His heavy coat was 
buttoned back as if he had been running. 
His helmet was dented, and his clothing 
was muddy. 

Saluting the teacher, he said in a very 
grave and dignified tone: 

“I report from the General. The enemy 
are at Coincy. All must flee!” He sa- 
luted and went out. 

Then what a scrambling into caps, coats 
and capes! No more school! No more 
study! No more work, but a wild adven- 
ture. Some were sad about it, for they had 
been driven from their homes before, and 


28 LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 


remembered the long, long march and the 
hunger. And to some it was only the 
prospect of a joyous frolic. 

An hour later they were going along 
the country road that lead toward the heart 
of France and away from the fearful enemy. 
And what a crowd they were! An old 
woman leading a pig, while her husband, 
with a bundle on his back, walked behind 
prodding the porker when he refused to 
march. A small boy carried a bantam 
rooster in a rusty bird-cage. A parrot, 
all uncaged, rode on the top of a piece 
of bedding, drawn by a mule. There 
were horses, cows, chickens, pigs, goats, 
men, women, children, crippled soldiers. 
The pigs squealed, the cows lowed for their 
calves, the women chattered with the par- 
rots, the children screamed in tears or in 
laughter. And so they passed on into 
strange scenes. Now and then, they 
looked back on the little town which had 







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Piiipi 
WMM ' 








He Trudged Beside His Foster-Mother. 




30 LITTLE BOY MEED'S THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 


been their home, where even now bricks 
were tumbling and walls were crashing 
down beneath the enemies’ shells. 

As for Little Boy France, he trudged 
beside his foster-mother. The madam 
had piled on her milk-cart some red and 
white checked blankets, into which were 
tied all manner of articles, and on top of 
these she had set a cage with a canary in 
it, and a basket of lunch. In the way of 
a horse she had only Missy, and because 
he was not strong enough, she had fast- 
ened a strap, like a harness, over her own 
shoulders, and was pulling with him, her 
wooden-soled shoes clattering over the 
hard road as they journeyed. 

All day long Little Boy trudged beside 
the cart. Sometimes pushing, and some- 
times too tired too push, he plodded on and 
on, till his hob-nailed shoes seemed loaded 
with lead and his head kept falling forward 
in sleep. 


LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 31 


Now and again thegreat caravan, which 
seemed like an endless circus parade, 
would halt. Then there would be the 
bumping of wagon tongues on end-gates, 
the squealing of pigs and the quarreling 
voices of drivers, then silence. It was 
during one of these stops that Little Boy’s 
foster-mother gave a cry as she looked 
back at her load. The canary in his cage 
had tumbled from the cart and was gone. 

“Why didn’t you watch it?” she scream- 
ed, seeming almost of a mind to slap the 
tired boy. 

But she turned and hurried back to 
search for it, leaving Little Boy leaning 
against the cart ready to cry. 

She had been gone ten minutes when an 
officer, with bright gold braid on his uni- 
form, rode along, crying: 

“Avant! Avant!” 

That meant that they must move, but 
how were Missy and Little Boy to move 


32 LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 


the heavy load? Little Boy put his thin 
shoulders through the strap and pulled his 
best, but it was no use, he could only move 
it a foot or two. 

“Avant! Avant!” Came the words 
again. What should he do? 

Just then a strange soldier in a uniform 
Little Boy had never seen before looked 
at Little Boy and smiled. The soldier’s 
uniform was the color of the grass when 
it is dead in the winter-time. He had a 
kind smile, and Little Boy liked him at 
once. His right arm was all wound round 
with white bandages and carried in a 
sling, but pushing Little Boy aside, he 
slipped into the harness, and speaking to 
Missy, went trudging along. 

The foster-mother did not come; even 
when they rested again she did not catch 
up. Seeing that Little Boy was too tired 
to walk further, the strange soldier lifted 
him gently with his left hand, and tossed 


LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 33 


him up among the red-and-white checked 
blankets, where he soon fell fast asleep. 

When Little Boy awoke it was dark. 
At first he could see nothing. He could 
only feel that he was no longer bumping 
along the road. Putting out his hand, he 
felt the blankets beneath him. He must 
still be on the cart. Little by little he 
began to see things. There were narrow 
black streaks standing straight up and 
down beside the cart. He put out his 
hand and touched one of them. They 
were hard and cold. 

“Must be an iron fence,” he murmured, 
and began to be afraid. Where was the 
soldier? Where was Missy? 

After a long time he had courage enough 
to call: 

“Missy!” 

His voice sounded very small in the dark, 
but at once there was a scratching on the 
paving-stones, and in another instant 


34 LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 


Missy’s tongue licked his hand. This 
made him happy. 

But now he began to feel hunger. Missy 
must be hungry too. Where was the sol- 
dier? Would his foster-mother ever find 
her cart? Where could he be, anyway? 

Just when he was beginning to feel un- 
happy again, a figure stood beside the cart. 
A patch of white told Little Boy that this 
was the soldier with the white bandage on 
his arm. 

Without saying anything, the man lift- 
ed him off the cart, then began tossing the 
bundles over the iron fence. When the 
cart was quite empty, he lifted Little Boy 
back into it, and removed the harness 
from Missy. Then he climbed upon the 
fence, and lifting Little Boy high in the air 
sat him down on one of the bundles. He 
whistled to Missy. The dog whined, then 
climbed upon the cart. In a second he, 
too, was over. Then they all felt their 



Tms Was Truly a Wonderful Soldier 


36 LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 


way in the dark till they came to an open 
door. Here the soldier left Little Boy 
and Missy. He came back soon with one 
of the bundles. He brought another and 
another, till all were there. 

He placed Little Boy on one of the 
bundles, then took something from another 
of the bundles. 

“Du pain,” he murmured, as he put it 
in Little Boy’s hand. 

It was bread, and Little Boy ate it 
eagerly. 

“D’ l’eau?” he murmured again. 

This time it was water. 

Soon Little Boy was no longer hungry. 
This was truly a wonderful soldier, but 
who was he? What kind of a soldier 
wore a uniform like the dead grass of 
winter? Little Boy could not tell. 

Missy, too, had been fed and had curled 
up in sleep. Soon the soldier began mak- 
ing a bed of the checkered blankets, and 


LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 37 


finally the two. Little Boy and the soldier, 
lay side by side snug and warm. 

But Little Boy could not sleep. It was 
all so very strange! As he looked up he 
could see the moonlight shining through 
two tiny windows. They were so small 
he did not think he could climb out of 
them. What place could have such small 
windows? What if someone locked the 
door while they slept? Why was there 
an iron fence about the place? Why was 
there not a gate for them to enter? 

All sorts of strange and fearful thoughts 
came to him. Perhaps this was a prison. 
Perhaps the enemy prisoners were kept 
here. And how he did dread the enemy, 
since one of them had dragged him back 
into the trench, back there where he had 
fled from, and had struck him! And per- 
haps it was a place where wild animals 
were kept! Perhaps there were more rooms 
and the wild animals were asleep, but 
would waken in the morning. 


38 LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 


Little Boy shivered with fright. Then 
he thought of his companion. Who could 
he be? Perhaps he was a new kind of 
enemy, who would only be good a little 
while, and then be very bad indeed. 

The soldier did not sleep either, and per- 
haps he had been thinking quite as hard 
as Little Boy. Anyway, he said all at 
once: 

“Francais vous n’ ce’ pas?” Which was 
his way of asking if Little Boy was French. 

“Oui,” (Yes) answered the boy proudly, 
“Et vous?” (And you?) 

“American.” 

American! How Little Boy’s heart 
beat with joy. Had he not heard how 
brave and strong were the Americans? 
And were they not the friends of France? 
What did it matter now what place this 
was? He crept close to the big soldier, 
and was soon fast asleep. 

When he awoke a little square of sun- 
light lay on the floor beside him. The 


LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 39 


soldier was sitting up studying a sign 
card on the wall. 

“Chambre d’ Jeanne d’ Arc.” 

Little Boy read it and did not under- 
stand. But the soldier did understand, 
for he bowed his head as if in prayer. 

Then he told Little Boy as best he could 
in his poor French that this was the 
chamber of the most wonderful girl that 
ever lived; that it was the room of Joan of 
Arc. 

He began to tell the simple story of this 
peasant girl who had a vision, and went 
out to lead the defeated armies of her 
country to victory. How, through some 
terrible mistake, she had been killed by 
her own people; but how they had loved 
her ever since. 

There was no need to tell the Little Boy. 
Did he not know the story all by heart? 
Had not there been a beautiful golden 
statue of her in Paris? Was there not a 


40 LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 


humble statue before every schoolhouse 
in this little corner of F ranee ? Little Boy, 
too, bowed his head. 

Then they gathered up their bundles 
and tip-toed out of the sacred place. They 
had slept in the humblest, most wonderful 
room in all France. And, after all, who 
had a better right than they: a homeless 
child and an American soldier wounded 
for France. 

They found Little Boy’s foster-mother 
waiting beside her cart. She had her 
canary, and soon had all her bundles back 
as well. Then, because he had come to 
love Little Boy, the soldier begged to be 
allowed to take him and his dog with him 
to Paris, where he was to have his wounds 
cared for. 

That night, before Little Boy fell asleep 
on the big, deep, soft cushions of the first- 
class coach into which they had crept, his 
soldier asked him about his name, his 


LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 41 


mother and his home. His name was 
Little Boy France, and for a long time he 
could think of no other. But by and by, 
he remembered that his mother had called 
him Pierre. 

“Shut your eyes and think hard of Paris, 
then tell me what you see,” said the pa- 
tient soldier. 

Little Boy closed his eyes and thought 
deeply. 

“What do you see?” asked his friend. 

“I see a beautiful lady and a fine little 
house.” 

“Who is the lady?” 

“Mon mere! Oh! Monsieur, mon mere,” 
(My mother! Oh! My mother!) he cried, 
clapping his hands for joy. 

“And what does the house look like?” 

“Oh, Monsieur! It is such a grand little 
house! Just like the ones we see in picture- 
books.” 


42 LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 


That was all he could tell. The soldier 
sighed. There were ten thousand little 
“picture-book” houses in Paris. How were 
they ever to find the right one? 

“Close your eyes again and tell me what 
you see,” said the soldier. 

Little Boy closed his eyes again, but it 
was a long time before he saw anything. 
He was so sleepy! At last he said, “I see 
a golden angel with big, big golden wings 
and she’s pointing; I think she’s pointing 
toward the little picture-book house which 
is far, far away.” 

Well, that was better. There were not 
many golden angels in Paris. Perhaps if 
they could find the angel, Little Boy could 
lead his soldier friend to his home and 
his mother. Anyway, the soldier hoped 
so. 

While he was thinking of this, Little 
Boy slipped down among the cushions 
fast asleep. And so they rode on through 


LITTLE BOY MEETS THE WONDERFUL SOLDIER 43 


the night— a boy, a dog and a wounded 
soldier. When they awoke they were in 
Paris; wonderful, beautiful Paris! 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 

Little Boy rubbed his eyes and looked 
about him. He was in one of the beauti- 
ful parks of Paris. For many days he had 
lived in Paris. His soldier friend had 
gone to a hospital which stood among 
many “picture-book” houses, all looking 
very much like the one Little Boy could 
see when he shut his eyes, but none quite 
like it. Little Boy had been given a place 
in a little home for orphans close by the 
hospital, and every day he and his soldier- 
friend went walking. He had been treated 
very kindly by the people in the home. 

44 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


45 


Every morning he ate his porridge from a 
blue bowl with a picture of Eiffel Tower 
bent around inside it; and every night he 
he slept in a clean, white cot with dozens 
and dozens of other little folks sleeping all 
about him. But little Boy hadn’t been 
happy all the time. All the other child- 
ren were really-truly orphans, and he 
wasn’t; for did he not have a mother in 
this very city of Paris? If only he could 
find her! If he only could! A hundred 
times every day he shut his eyes and 
thought hard, but all he could see was 
the beautiful lady, the picture-book house, 
and the golden angel. They had not 
found the angel, so how could he find the 
house ? 

But now they were in a beautiful little 
park all filled with flower-beds blossoming 
red, pink and blue. And he had found 
something he was sure he had seen before. 
It was a fountain with the water bubbling 


46 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


and bubbling all the time, making a rain- 
bow as it shot away in a silvery spray. 
Without thinking he had dashed away 
from the soldier toward it. The soldier 
was talking to a comrade and did not see 
him go. Little Boy had hurried to the 
fountain and looked at it with beating 
heart. It seemed to him that something 
else was very, very near. What could it 
be? He closed his eyes, and the golden 
angel seemed almost to flap her wings. 
He opened them and hurried down a path. 
He turned to the right and hurried on 
again. Then he looked. He was sure he 
should see the golden angel pointing 
towards his home. And then ? Oh, then, 
he’d go running to his home and his 
mother! But alas! When he looked, 
all he saw before him was a great pile of 
sand-bags. They were just such bags as 
he had seen in the enemy’s trenches! 





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48 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


The very sight of them frightened him, 
for he seemed to see again the wicked - 
looking face of the soldier who had struck 
him. 

With tears of fear and disappointment 
he turned to run back to his soldier. But 
where was his soldier ? Suddenly he stood 
still, and a great fear came over him. He 
had lost his soldier. He was alone in a 
crowd in a great city. He did not know 
the way back to the orphans’ home. 
Alone? No, not quite, for as he was 
feeling the very worst, something damp 
touched his hand; it was the nose of his 
faithful friend Missy. 

All that beautiful afternoon Little Boy 
searched the wonderful parks of Paris for 
his lost soldier. He wandered among the 
the forest trees; he hurried by many, 
many beautiful marble statues. He saw 
the boys playing hockey on stilts, and the 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


49 


little folks riding on the merry-go-round, 
but his friend wasn’t watching them. 

When the sun set, and people hurried 
home to their dinners. Little Boy still 
wandered in the park with Missy by his 
side. He knew no place to go and eat; 
besides, he had no money. 

At last, he curled up on a bench in a 
dark corner behind some bushes, and with 
Missy watching over him, fell asleep. 
But before he slept, having closed his eyes, 
he saw again the golden angel pointing 
toward the little picture-book house. 
Where could the angel have gone? Had 
she taken fright at the terrible war and 
spread her wings to fly away? Who 
could tell? 

He didn’t sleep long. He was awak- 
ened by a strange sound. It was like the 
scream of the birds of the forest, only it 
didn’t end quickly as the scream of birds 
do. It screamed on and on, growing 


So 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


louder and louder. Little Boy hopped 
down to the grass and hurried out to a 
path. The streets were almost dark. 

Only a pale-blue light shone here and 
there on the corner. But there was a 
moon, and Little Boy thought he saw 
something coming down the empty street. 
What could it be? The scream grew 
louder. And now he could hear many 
screams. They were screaming all over 
the city ; one here, one there and one away 
yonder. Missy didn’t like it and told her 
master so by growling. But Little Boy 
stood there very bravely waiting. Soon 
a very red automobile with some men in 
came racing by, and from it came the 
awful scream, that grew less and less as it 
raced away in the night. What could it 
all mean? 

Soon the screams began to grow faint 
and far away. Then the bright eyes of 
the boy caught sight of a great black bulk 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


Si 


lifting up into the sky. Up, up, up it went, 
till it seemed it would be lost in the clouds, 
but finally it hung there, gently swaying 
back and forth. Little Boy was so 
charmed with all these new sights and 
sounds that he forgot to be afraid. But 
now there came to his keen ears a sound 
which made cold chills run down his back. 
His knees trembled so he could hardly 
stand. Missy knew, too, for she growled 
fiercely. 

“Hun-hun-hin! Huhn - huhn - hihn !” 
came the sound from the sky. How often 
in his home near the trenches he had heard 
that sound ! How often, too, he had been 
hurried into a cellar because the terrible 
enemy was coming to bomb the people 
from the sky. Little Boy had never 
dreamed of their being here in beautiful 
Paris. And in the little park there was 
no cellar, so all he could do was to throw 
himself on the ground beneath a bush and 


52 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


hug the grass to stop the wild beating of 
his heart. 

All too soon there came the Boom! 
Haroom! Haroom! Haroom! which 
made the streets echo and re-echo with 
terrific noises. Then for a long time all 
was silent. At last Little Boy sat up and 
began looking at the stars, and wishing 
one of them would fall on all the wicked 
people who bombed women and little 
children. 

But now came a new sound. Root-a- 
toot, root-a-toot, root-a-toot-a-toot-a-toot. 
Again he watched, and again the red 
wagons passed. This time there were 
more men, but each wore a shiny brass 
hat and blew a shiny brass trumpet. 

There had been an air-raid on Paris. 
The scream from the car was a siren to 
warn people to get into their cellars. The 
dark object in the sky was a sausage 
balloon, which brought up men to look 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


S3 


for the enemy. And the “root-a-toot” 
men were the firemen who came back to 
tell the city that the enemy had gone, and 
they could get out of their cellars and go 
to bed. Little Boy was too young to 
understand all this, but he did feel glad 
when it was all over. 

He was just thinking of creeping back to 
the bench when he heard steps on the 
gravel, and in just another moment he 
was grasping the good arm of his soldier 
friend who had come back once more to 
search for him. 

Next day the soldier was sent to a won- 
derful rest-camp. He took Little Boy along, 
and here, dressed in a brand-new suit of 
horizon-blue, he became the pet and mas- 
cot of thousands of soldiers who wore the 
dead-grass colored uniforms. They took 
him on wonderful snow-balling trips on 
white-peaked mountains; on long rides 
over beautiful roads, and sailed him on a 
lake that glimmered in the moonlight. 


54 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


It was one day when Little Boy and 
his now, one-armed, soldier had gone for 
a long walk in the country, that a strange 
and wonderful thing happened to them. 

They were seated on a little hill that 
looked down on a lovely valley where a 
canal wound its silvery way through the 
meadows. Just at their feet was a tiny 
orchard, and at the edge of the orchard 
stood a little colony of beehives. 

“See!” said the boy, pointing to the 
colony of bees. “There is one hive that 
is built like a church!” 

And so it was. A regular little church 
with tower, wide pillared doors and all. 
“And look!” exclaimed the soldier. “The 
people are now just coming from mass!” 

“Oui! Oui!” exclaimed Little Boy, 
speaking French and clapping his hands 
in his excitement. Surely, it was true the 
people were coming from mass, for already 
the white steps and even the pillars were 



From Somewhere Above There Came A Strange Sound. 



5^ 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


covered with dark masses of bees. “I 
think they are going to swarm, and per- 
haps we should tell the good madam who 
lives in the house below the orchard,” said 
the soldier. 

But the hillside was a pleasant place to 
rest and dream, so they still loitered there, 
each busy with his thoughts. The boy 
was having great fun in his dreams with 
the idea of a bee village. And the soldier 
was dreaming, as he had imagined many 
times before he lost his arm, of doing great 
things for his country and for liberty. 

Suddenly the soldier was aroused and 
sprang to his feet. There was a loud 
zoom just above their heads and the 
swarm of bees went whirling away. “How 
stupid of me!” exclaimed the soldier. 
“Now the madam will not have so much 
honey for the soldiers of France!” In his 
excitement he forgot that he had lost his 
right arm and waved his stub aimlessly 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


57 


in an effort to pick up his hat. Then he 
sat down limply. All those lovely visions 
he had been dreaming would never come 
true ! He had been a soldier, but he had 
never accounted for a single enemy and 
now he would fight no more! 

But what was this? From somewhere, 
far above them, there came a strange sound: 
“Hun! Hun! Hun!” Surely this was 
not made by the bees! 

“Hun! Hun! Hun!” repeated the sol- 
dier. “Y ou don’t need to tell us your name. 
We know you’re a Hun all right!” He 
gazed away to the clouds where a tiny 
object, like a dragon fly, was slowly cir- 
cling. It was an enemy airplane. “One 
like that got my good right arm,” he said 
to Little Boy. Then shaking his fist in 
the air he shouted: “Come on down and 
I’ll fight you yet!” Little did he know 
what was to happen in the moments that 
followed. 


58 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


The machine was an observation plane 
and contained little interest for the boy 
and the soldier, high in the air as it was, 
so they turned to find their swarm of bees 
that had been circling low in the sky and 
promising to light in some trees on the 
hill above them. But the swarm had 
thought better of the lighting and were 
now circling wide and high before them 
in the air. “We ought to make a noise 
to bring them down for the madam,” said 
the soldier. “But how are we going to do 
it?” 

He was puzzling over this when he was 
startled by a loud “Hun! Hun! Hun!” 
which seemed to be right at his ears. 
Looking up with a start he saw the enemy 
machine so close to earth that he could 
see the observer’s head as he peered over 
the side. 

The machine had taken a head drop 
from the clouds, either for the purpose of 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


59 


observation or because its engine was 
stalled for a few seconds. But now it 
righted itself and went soaring gracefully 
off toward the valley. 

But what was this! Suddenly the 
engine began giving out queer sounds. 
Hun— sput, sput, Bust! Hun! Hun! Sput, 
sput! And instantly the keen eyes of the 
soldier saw a dark cloud about the machine, 
which was neither dust nor mist, but bees. 
The machine had run into a wandering 
swarm. And from the sound of the engine 
they were considerably hamperingthe work 
of the driver. The machine coughed more 
and more. It began to swerve and veer 
from side to side. 

“Quick! It’s our chance! The bees! 
They’re going to bump! And seizing 
the small boy by the arm with a wrench 
that brought him spinning down the hill, 
he careened toward the probable lighting 
place of the wildly whirling machine. At 


6o 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


last the runaway headed straight down. 
Fifty feet from the ground the bees seemed 
to think better of the flight and flew away. 
But down, down came the machine. The 
observer and the pilot, how would it be 
with them? This question sped through 
the mind of the unarmed and crippled 
soldier. But he did not waver. If he 
were able to do his bit these two pirates 
of the air should never again drop bombs 
on defenseless women and children. And 
courage aided his speed, for just as the 
machine crashed to earth he tumbled upon 
it and was instantly grappling with the 
stronger of the men who was half blinded 
with bee stings. The pilot had been 
knocked senseless, but the observer fought 
savagely. Striking out madly, he half 
stunned his one armed antagonist, but 
undaunted, the soldier rallied and, swing- 
i nghis armabout the neck of the assassin, he 
gripped it tight. But instantly he was 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


61 


torn away. Had it not been for the plucky 
French lad, who gripped the right arm of 
his adversary for a moment and then went 
whirling away, the battle might have been 
lost; but in that second the soldier gained 
his grip once more, and this time it was 
but a matter of seconds before the observer 
lay unconscious beside his pilot 

Three moments sufficed to tie them 
securely with parts of their own rigging, 
and cold water brought their swollen and 
ugly faces to working and their eyes to 
leering once more. But they were fast to 
stay. And over them stood a stanch and 
determined soldier gripping a German 
revolver, which in a brief period of time 
he had learned sufficiently well to manage. 
And Little Boy hastened away to the village 
below the orchard where the soldier said 
he thought there was an American camp 
located. As the soldier waited, his heart 
was full of content. He had received his 
bit of a soldier’s heaven from the sky. 


62 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


Soon they came breaking up the hill, 
a great blanket of khaki clad soldiers, 
fresh from the states and eager to see the 
first captured enemies and the crippled 
soldier who had subdued them. They led 
them, the two, the crippled soldier and the 
boy, away down the hill in triumph with 
the captives marching on before. That 
evening the victors were dined at the 
officers’ mess; guests of honor, you may 
be sure. 

Three weeks passed, and then they were 
back in the beautiful city. But how 
changed it all was! They arrived in the 
morning; very early it was, but already, 
everywhere, were flags flying. A band 
was playing in the depot. The streets 
were crowded with people. They shouted, 
screamed, and blew horns till Little Boy 
was tempted to be frightened. No sooner 
were they in the crowd than a dozen stout 
people seized his soldier and lifted him up 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


63 


high, as they marched along shouting: 
“American soldat! America! America! 
Vive le American soldat!” Fortunately 
someone saw Little Boy in his uniform, 
and lifting him, they carried him along 
screaming, “Vive le petit soldat! Vive le 
garcon ! ” 

In wild-eyed wonder the boy watched 
the crowd, while Missy, hardly knowing 
whether to bite in anger, or bark in play, 
pranced about getting under everyone’s 
feet and having a time all by himself. 

When finally they were let down, they 
found themselves once more in the park 
by the river. 

“What is it? Why do they do this?” 
Little Boy asked eagerly of his soldier. 

“The war is ended,” said the soldier. 

“Ended?” Little Boy was silent for a 
moment, then a thousand questions came 
struggling to his lips. “Will there be no 
more bombs? Will there be no more 


64 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


shells? Can we stay out of the cellars 
always? Can we have candy? Can all 
the soldiers go home? Can we go to 
school up-stairs? Will all the soldiers 
that only have one arm or one leg have 
two arms and two legs now ? ” 

To all the questions the soldier answered 
quite cheerfully, “Yes, my son.” But 
when the last question came, he looked 
sadly at his own empty sleeve, and said 
slowly, “I’m afraid not, my dear child.” 

For a moment Little Boy was sad too, 
but in a moment he was on his feet with 
a smile. “No more war!” It was such 
good news that he wanted to tell someone 
who did not know. His mother! Oh, if 
he could only find his mother on such a 
good day as this! He was sure she 
wouldn’t know, and he would tell her! 
He would! He would! 

Once more he thought of the golden 
angel, and, forgetting his disappointment 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


65 


of the other time, he hurried toward where 
he thought it ought to be. But this time 
he dragged his soldier with him. As he 
came near the spot he saw a great crowd 
there. They were cheering and throwing 
sand-bags this way and that. Then all 
of a sudden they parted, and before the 
boy’s astonished eyes stood his golden 
angel pointing, pointing toward the story- 
book house which was his home. 

The soldier understood, and told him 
how kind hands had hid the golden-angel 
behind sand-bags to protect her from 
the bombs which fell from the sky, but 
now there was no longer need to fear. 

Then Little Boy, tugging at his hand, 
led him the way the angel was pointing. 
It would be hard to tell which did the 
most to find the way to the picture-book 
house, Little Boy or Missy. It was a long, 
long way, but finally they stood by a door 
and knocked. 


66 


THE PICTURE-BOOK HOUSE 


With wildly-thumping heart, Little Boy 
waited. And he did not wait in vain, for 
all at once he felt himself lifted by a pair 
of tender arms, and his cheeks were 
showered with tears and kisses. 

“And mother,” he said at last, when he 
could get his breath, “there will be no 
more war. Is it not beautiful?” 

“Yes, my child,” the beautiful lady 
smiled through her tears, “ It is very, very 
wonderful.” 

They feasted that day as they had 
never feasted before-the beautiful lady. 
Little Boy, the soldier and Missy. And 
until the boat came to carry him home, 
the soldier was still Little Boy’s very best 
pal. Often and often they went to play in 
the garden of the golden angel. 

When Little Boy is grown, and perhaps 
long before, he is going to visit his soldier 
in his home beyond the sea. 


[Finis .] 


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Just Off the Press 

A Rare Artistic Edition of the Very Best 

Hans Andersen’s 
Fairy Tales 

Translated from the Danish by 
CARL SIEWERS 


Illustrated with over Eighty Text Cuts and 
Twenty-four Full-Page Half-tones by 
JOSEPH J. MORA 


Bound in English Cloth $1.25 Net 


For directing the Power of the Child’s 
imagination this Book with its numer- 
ous stories and over 100 Illustrations 
will delight the sympathetic young 
reader 


Ask for the Albert Whitman Edition of This Title 

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